08.02.11
GRIME TIME: Simon Wheatley
Simon Wheatley spent more than a decade shooting the harsh realities of inner-city life in London which have given birth to the grime music scene. His new book DON'T CALL ME URBAN! tells the story of the poverty, violence and gang culture from which the music genre has emerged. Here he talks about capturing the lives of his subjects.
I was born in Singapore in 1970. My up bringing was very different from that of the people in the book. Before starting this project I had already photographed quite a lot, since about 1994, wandering about the world, looking for my place within it, I suppose. I had just begun to live in Lambeth and was intrigued by a controversial urban-regeneration scheme. My background was quite political in terms of my university studies; I’d come into photography that way. It was also an experiment with a 6x6 camera I’d recently come across. Before that I’d only shot 35mm. I wasn’t really hoping for anything, I just loved photography and was socially concerned.
The project became too architectural and in 2002 I took my Leicas into the lives of the people I’d got to know. The youth were running wild, and they’d seen me around as they’d been growing up, so I got access to their lives. I also spent a lot of time with old people, who were alienated in their own way, but my pictures of youth were better.
I had a good contact in a ragga DJ whose brothers were part of the wild youngsters and that helped. The art director of underground music magazine RWD saw one of my photos from a flyer of an exhibition I had in 2004, and his commissions opened up the grime scene in east London.
The grime scene was very DIY and still is for most people, I suppose. However, some artists have hit the big time and this has changed things, because those who have had mainstream success have done so with a more ‘friendly’ image than grime originally had. Beneath the surface nothing has really changed; I don’t claim to be a musical authority, by the way. I started to put the book together a couple of years ago, editing pictures, writing texts and designing layouts. I realised I’d been witness to a significant chapter in the social history of UK youth. It was the time of grime, when things got a bit out of control. Young people the world over seem to be the same with cameras, a bit self-conscious at first. On the streets of London, sometimes youths would think I was police: sometimes it would take time to break such barriers, sometimes I never did and moved on.
I was also shooting in Holland and France during this time. As always, I needed to get away from London and went to Amsterdam, often living in youth hostels because it was hard to find a place. Eventually I found my way to De Bijlmer, one of Europe’s largest housing projects, in south-east Amsterdam, which was in a state of decay with moves to ‘regenerate’ it. I had become fascinated by these rundown environments, and I was getting into the music too. I got my editorial breaks in Holland but by the time of the French project I was in Magnum and so more focused. I was only there over the course of a year in a place that was also being ‘regenerated’, where the youth were extremely alienated. It was really hard to work there. I liked what I heard of French hip hop, it was often political and intelligent.
I’m not interested in photographic style, it’s incidental. I have experimented with different cameras, however, and that’s bound to cause something. I think I’ve always been the same, I’ve never been shy. I’d hang with some crews longer than with others. The last crew I rolled with was older and more mature and although I spent a lot of time with them, only one picture made the book. On the other hand, I once met a crew at a north London festival through an emcee who was close to them, and in the space of an hour made three pictures that got in.
Most of the work is shot on Leica Range finders. I’d keep a system of two bodies and three lenses in my pockets and no one would know I was a ‘photographer’. Sometimes I’d take a Mamiya 7 to do a portrait. I used a Hasselblad XPan too, again as an experiment. I had a couple of Rolleiflexes – the TLR and the SL66. These days I have a Canon EOS 5D MkII, and a couple of pictures in the book are shot with its predecessor. I can’t relate to them in the way I used to with my Leica film cameras. I was at one with them.
I did get involved with the subjects I was shooting and got to know people’s parents sometimes. I did form genuine bonds, people would call me to ask ‘what’s up?’ Of course, sometimes I didn’t get a good reception when shooting. One develops an instinct when to persist and hang around – and when to bounce. Since childhood I’ve always travelled, so I’m used to moving on. The thing with photojournalism is the exploitation. You move on (and upwards even) but the subject tends to stay. It’s complex.
You could say I’m a bad guy, but I went with good intentions, I wanted to tell the story of the inner city, I want my book to provoke debate. I did try to stop the fight on the balcony [captured in one of the images in the book] but it was futile. When I decided to end the project I did feel there was really nothing more to photograph, but I was also tired of the moral compromise of being close to situations that I objected to but being powerless to affect them. I’ve felt myself to be something of a youth worker but as many of them will tell you, some youngsters never listen.
The image in the book of a pregnant young woman stayed with me a long time because she had the baby in jail and I wondered what had happened. I’m pleased to say I’ve made contact with her and she has pulled through and is now a good and responsible mum. The things I see do affect me – especially young children growing up unaware that their parents are children too, unaware of how difficult the life ahead will be. Is there a glamorisation of this lifestyle in the media and in music? Unfortunately, yes, in a big way. I’ve written a lot of text with the book. I couldn’t just let those images stand alone, without explanation or context. The book’s title is an appeal against that. In terms of whether I’ve achieved my project’s aims, we’ll see what happens. A debate about youth in the inner cities will continue and my project may contribute.
As for solutions, they have to be holistic. I’m now rediscovering a love of photography. There was a lot of interest in my work with marginalised youth. I got a lot of press and felt pressured. I became bored of myself. Photography should be simple. I’ve been living in Calcutta, looking far beyond photography itself. Things are quite different from the life I led in London. I’m learning that in photography what counts is one’s connection with a subject. It can take time to connect.
DON'T CALL ME URBAN! The Time of Grime, by Simon Wheatley, Northumbria Press, priced £30. ISBN 978-1-904794-47-9 www.dontcallmeurban.com
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